Addiction
by ManicMelancholyMonkey
Summary: I'm a bad, bad girl,' she thinks solemnly, and covers her mouth to keep from laughing. Rated M for subtle hints of sexual activities


The Princess and the Frog (c) Disney

* * *

She glances at him from the corner of her eyes, making sure he's breathing deeply and slowly. Which to her credit was a little hard, since he didn't seem to breathing at all at first; the man slept like a corpse.

Confirming it, she rises slowly and slips out of the sheets, letting them fall off of her exposed form as if they were thin blankets made of water. The young woman rubs her arms bashfully before looking around the shadowed room, everything is still and silent, but not dead. Oh no not dead.

She moves slowly, the ache in her pelvic region heightens with every step and she can't help but curse while the sting of oncoming tears threaten to fall. Reaching the doorway, Tiana glances behind her one last time to make sure he's asleep. If any sign indicated he was awake, or aware of her leaving, she didn't see it. That only increases the nervousness in her fluttery heart, which was still beating mercilessly, even after the previous hours activities were no longer a valid excuse for it. Shaking the now tangled tendrils of black hair on her head, the young waitress moved out into the parlor and walked toward the door. Twisting the crooked knob, she squeezed her wearied eyes tightly; all of her will-power was needed to not just shut the damned door and hurriedly run back to the confines of the bed, even with what it held. Thankfully she doesn't, however, and after a moment of adjusting she steps outside and closes the door behind her, without turning back.

Unbeknownst to poor Tiana, Facilier's eyes open wide before the door even closes.

Outside, the young woman nearly _stumbles_ over the cracked cobblestone several times, her eyes glazing over from the pain of her aching muscles. They clench with even the simplest twitch of a finger and the cold does nothing but elevate its pain. Inside nevertheless she can't help hearing that tiny voice asking her why she should even care. After all, she had begun to lose any care for her well-being such long, long time ago. The deep scars that traced cleanly along her love-handles and hips and thighs, the dim hungry light of her eyes, and every purple and yellow bruise along her entire body could attest to that.

_I'm a bad, bad girl, _she thinks solemnly, and nearly bursts into laughter. Covering her little mouth in the shape of an o, she halts in her drunken wandering. Controlling herself through these little episodes has become harder and harder each night. After a few moments she manages to slip back into the worry, the fear of wondering if one day… she won't be able to stop these mental torments.

A sudden change of pace in the wind has her hair, normally held tight in a tedious bun, whipping across her face while she peers distractedly down the winding alleyway. Everything outside of this Hell is peaceful and friendly, and even more so, safe. She yearns for it now in the terrible cold, and yet her lips purse in disgust. It had taken her time to realize it, but she knew she didn't want safety. Not that kind of safety. A little town in which everything was colorful, in which everyone spoke to each other and greeted one and another even friendlier than blood-related cousins might sounded lovely when you knew nothing else, not even the deeper and darker parts of that world, whereas there always seemed to be some.

It sounds lovely; so lovely it's become boring; and she had begun to crave for something more, something else. It was not long before that one morning he'd tipped his hat and spoke to her in that frightening, luxurious voice,

"_Enchante' "_

Why now? Why this? Was she simply tired of waiting? Tired of dreaming, of wishing secretly on the stars?

Before she knew it, such a longing had become an addiction. One night out of all others had proven to be the point past no return; one damned night and now she came running like a dog to its master. The craving burning her to the very core every time. And all he'd do is please her, knowing she was falling, and falling, and falling.

Her muscles tense before she can stop them. Reverie broken, Tiana shifts just slightly as a particular chill slides down her backbone. Every cell in her body screams for her to turn, but she holds still and only raises her head to let him know she's sensed his presence. She's proud, knowing she's gotten better at masking the fear that always, without ever letting up, assaults her when he's near.

"You're gonna catch your death out here Chere." The man's voice laps at her weak spot, sending her down, down again into the whirlpool of longing.

His dexterous fingers reach from behind to grip her shoulders to grip her shoulder blades, they fasten around her tenderly and he pulls her back. Immediately, disbelievingly, she realizes that he's bare too. The thin clothing usually covering his poking rib-cage and the _other various appendages of his body were still strewn on the floor of the parlor inside. Tiana emitted a small gasp when his lips pressed against her ear, like a silent greeting or a physical thank-you card; and it's so unsettlingly gentle she forces the bile down her throat. _

Silence stretches over the entire night. His head lowers in the crook of her neck, digging his pointed chin into the flesh of her shoulder while his arms slide down to the rest of her bare body. They move around her like spiders' limbs and grip her tightly like a worthy trophy or possession.

"Eve shoulda never listened to that snake."

Tiana cries into the dark of the night as Facilier's teeth sink into her flesh, spilling her bad blood.

* * *

Ehmm, yeah... I'm in uncharted waters here.

Okay, so since I've been having trouble with this damned arm, and my typing has been so slow I've begun to lose stamina, I thought I'd just let my mind wander, and here is where it led.

Don't flame me please!! R and R if you dare!


End file.
